A Helping Hand and Heart
by lallieannem
Summary: Nico has undergone every form of therapy that exists within our Universe, but in none has he found a truly effective cure for his scrambled sanity. However, could he find just that - a cure - if not in a method then in a friend, and a somewhat round-the-bend potential boyfriend?


Disclaimer: I do not own PJO or any of its characters, Rick Riordan does.

Warnings: Some mild to strong language and a half dozen sexual references. Beware the almost fluffy banter.

Notes: This chapter is from the point of view of an OC, but is an intro to the relationships Nico will form over the next chapters.

I hope this sets the scene – somewhat – for what may be to come and I hope you enjoy reading it. Yes, this will be an ongoing fiction, with fluff, angst, tragedy and – maybe if you're really lucky – I'll eke out some dirty smut. Depends. Allonsy!

Chapter 1: Meeting Sexy

Light faded fast outside the window as the temperature sank even lower, subtly penetrating the hard-won warmth that the stuttering heater gave out into the room. The empty-of-urban-shit space behind the trees glowed in various shades of violet, crimson, orange and faded blue – blending into a darker shade of inky midnight blue the further East one's eyes wandered. The trees were the dark, hastily scratched charcoal obtrusions of the watercolour lights proffered beautifully by the canvas of the sky. Charlie smiled wanly as her gaze flickered over the colourful view outside the pathetically frosted, dirty but clear glass panes. She felt a boggy, dull jealousy of nature, had always wished she could possess such vivid colour and life the world outside did. She blinked her seemingly – to her – pointless and silly little diamond-like tears away, keeping her cheeks dry despite the moistness of her pink hued orbs.

She shivered in spite of the desperate efforts that the little wall-socket electric heater gave, it hummed lamely and uselessly from its position in the shadow-ridden corner every now and then. Bless. It was trying its best, but Charlie honestly couldn't see why the supervisors even fucking bothered. Outside, in the Antarctic worthy weather, twenty or so of the numerous other members of the youth club "Body and Mind" were playing a rough and rowdy game of ball on the shaggy school field, presumably with half the supervisor population working tonight having to hold back some of the more err, _physical_ members of B and M. Charlie predicted World War Three, nearly betted on it with her best friend when the idea popped to mind. Actually, no. Scratch that, she'd never kept close track but … B and M War 1000? 434097?_ Infinity_? She gave up.

Carefully she brushed back a particularly persistent long lock of her almost aggressively wavy and wonderfully silky-to-the-touch starlight white hair. Shifting in her seat to face her lanky and energetic ebony-haired friend Eoin, she rubbed her delicate, feminine and rose-scented china doll's hands together, her slim frame and non-existent (to a near unhealthy extent) fat did nothing to help keep her warmth in her body. The fucking annoying, scratchy ivory-hued wool jumper "Uncle" Stilinski had tried to make her didn't seem to be doing it's goddamned job either.

Herself and Eoin were two of four people using the "Creative Space" that B and M – or rather, Gildern High – provided. Charlie attended college there as well and the place was beginning to drive her up the metaphorical fucking wall. She couldn't wait for her time to come; University was in her eager sights and the patience was starting to leave – brutally abandon – her.

For now, however, she felt near ready to implode with happiness; the way she always felt when able to just _sit_ with her friend, no talking required. Here she could be at peace with her fear of speaking, her selective mute, as they call it. She would just call it mute, except it isn't. It has forever, since she was a young child, been labelled as selective. This is because she has spoken – but only to one person ever since she could remember. Eoin.

She watched, just holding in a massive grin, as her best friend threw another of her paper planes in the vague direction of the supervisor who'd been landed with him. Stupidly enough, the balding middle-aged man kept reprimanding him loudly from his cushioned chair in the far opposite corner. Charlie reckoned he'd missed out on that small pinch of general knowledge that says; '_AHEM, blind people's remaining senses improve as they rely on them all the more – AKA, the trouble maker known exclusively as Eoin is slowly getting a better idea of where the fuck you are, GENIUS!'_

This time, the crumpled pink projectile smacked lightly into the wall right beside the supervisor's head. Charlie watched the man's face redden and his beady eyes get impossibly smaller as he glared at Eoin, despite knowing the smug little shit had the eyesight of a fucking bat.

Eoin cackled unreservedly when the beer-bellied supervisor gave up and simply dragged his chair lazily to another spot in the room to their left. Idiot. Why did he go and sign his death warrant by scraping the legs so efficiently across the snagging, short-haired carpet? She sighed empathetically on the poor man's behalf. Eoin 'Aodh' Kavanagh followed his movement scarily accurately, then threw another close-call plane in response to the man's attempt.

This little ongoing exchange went on for another five or ten minutes before Eoin finally decided that he'd had his fun and – apparently - that maybe the short Italian sitting across the room from them deserved his more dedicated attention.

Eoin seemingly scented the air, possibly a little too dramatically, before asking him, "Are you new?" At the inquisitive and smiling tone of the dark-haired flirt, the other young man slowly spun his chair so he was facing them. He didn't answer, frowning as he looked them over. Charlie felt as though she was a bug squirming in the sights of a magnifying glass. Seconds seemingly stretched into hours as he quietly deduced. Eventually he made a small nod of the head – clearly not in answer to the question, but with some form of satisfaction.

Charlie frowned again. However, she made no comment.

Finally, the tan, olive-skinned boy met his obsidian eyes with her vivid pink ones. She raised a sarcastic eyebrow in response to his silence, making him chuckle lightly. Eoin elbowed her in a friendly but deadly serious '_stop stealing my spotlight'_ way. Oh, yeah. Mr Man of Mischief was gay as fuck and liked a man with good taste in cologne. Charlie shook her head exasperatedly and watched as the unfamiliar teen reluctantly closed his battered artist's drawing pad and said, "er, yeah." He paused, "Why do you ask?"

Eoin grins, "I've never met another guy here before who knew how to pull off a women's perfume."

"_Oh,"_ Charlie thought, "_so, _not_ cologne then."_

The other man ducked his head a little and a blush tinted his cheeks, giving them a rosy attire. It was fucking adorable. Then visibly shook himself and flashed a full-blown grin, dry lips cracking in several places and heavily charcoaled eyes wrinkling at the corners, the whites shining between the two extreme shades of black. He retorted, sarcastically, "And by that you mean that _you_ can?"

Eoin giggled – literally fucking giggled like some twelve year old girl on a date, and Charlie rolled her eyes at the fact that she wasn't very much surprised by the cutesy giggle – then returned, with a faint smoulder to his voice, saying "Wanna come see?"

Charlie held in yet another exasperated sigh at her best friends antics – God, it was near painful to watch.

The jet haired Italian laughed openly, running a wandering hand through his hair absent-mindedly as the beautiful, light-hearted sound tumbled freely from his rumbling chest. To Charlie it was almost a purr, Eoin probably thought so too from his blissful expression. Charlie wandered what would happen if Eoin could see him. Something explicit, probably, because – despite the fact Charlie wasn't really interested – she was dying inside at the sight of the way his long, thin fingers caught and subconsciously styled the long black-as-pitch locks that fell upon his shoulders and descended to the space between his shoulder blades in waves and then small upturns – tiny, tightly coiled curls. The finger nails tipping each long digit that tugged gently at his thick, purposefully mussed hair were a deep red – a colour obviously chosen as a 'fuck you' to society. Clearly, he put more thought into his appearance than anyone else in a twenty mile radius, even women because seriously. You would really need to see it to believe it, though, dear reader.

The young man stopped his laughing by moving his hand over his mouth, but not too firmly, for that would smudge the subtlety applied but tasteful lip gloss he had on. It would be amusing if he didn't look so damn good in it. He responded with a dry, "Maybe later."

Eoin whined like a toddler being denied his favourite sweets in the confectionary isle. "Aww, why?!"

"I'm doing my Art homework and must not get distracted."

"Pretty please."

He sighed loudly, shared mutual irked but amused look with Charlie, then turned back to his work. Charlie pushed the remaining readily-made origami planes out of the way and began to draw as well.

Five minutes passed with Charlie's and the Italian's chosen media making various scratching and sweeping noises as they worked. Eoin fidgeted throughout. Then, "Oi, Sexy!"

Charlie near had a spaz attack trying to hold her laughter in when the weary-looking, greying supervisor blinked a few times and looked up slowly, an unknown and complex official form laying forgotten in his now lax hands.

Eoin, for once suitably oblivious, simply yelled again, "Yes, I meant you, hot little fuck on the other side of the room!" Charlie watched as the short Italian guy reluctantly met their gaze – well, kind of. His eyes rolled so efficiently in their sockets that she was fairly sure, if not certain, that her oldest Irish bastard of a friend would hear them move. The supervisor hid a look of disappointment and turned away from them and back to what Charlie would bet was paperwork for a better job. She wouldn't be surprised.

"What?" The tone was only a touch unpleasant in comparison to before, hinting very – _very _– lightly at a growl. And maybe a sharp, pointy reckoning for poor old Kavanagh.

Good anger management techniques then, Charlie observed. She would have killed Eoin by now. Very messily. And with personal ensurance of intense pain.

She had no idea why she still loved and adored the silly bastard so.

"You know, you really shouldn't use that voice box in such a manner – it's a dangerous thing to do," Eoin said matter-of-factly.

"Um, why?" A tone of utter confusion had crept into the voice of the other.

"Because reasons," Eoin teased, smiling wide.

More firmly this time, "_Why?_"

"Whoa, there you go again!" Eoin sang gleefully.

Another dizzying eye roll and a tired but nonetheless irritated look shot in Eoin's direction. He turned back to his work, taking in his progress and then diving back in with a freshly sharpened pencil. Charlie tapped her pencil twice upon their table, signalling for Eoin to spill, since she reckoned his head was filled past the brim with odd little ideas and opinions and she knew full well it was dangerous to allow them to stew and brew in his tainted mind for too long. She grinned to herself – and she would admit she'd appeared a little demented at that moment in time. Well, if she could.

Eoin whispered words so quietly that she barely heard into her neck. A little of target, but the boy was _blind_. She continued to draw but would occasionally encourage her friend's outlet by tapping, huffing or poking in response. Eoin told her his deductions about the poor guy he'd begun to call "Sexy" and asked if she could describe him to him later "_pwetty pwease_ _and tsank yhou_" and then talked to her about numerous other things because he knew that she found comfort in spoken words, especially if they weren't her own. She made an inquisitive noise when she wanted to know something and because the two had known each other for approaching twelve or thirteen years and had seen one another approximately every day in that time, he was quite good at guessing what she wanted to know.

Charlie waited for the topic to inevitably swing back around in a full circle to Sexy and asked her question. If you could called it that.

Hissing lightly to make the "S" sound, she tapped a foot impatiently and snapped her jaw. The click of her teeth represented speech. She was asking what Eoin was talking about earlier - for what was so special about the way Sexy had spoken to him that he had practically fan-girled over him? Her efforts reaped her gold and Eoin leapt into a rapt description of what Sexy's "growly authoritive voice" did to him. Charlie winced. Well, then.

She _did_ ask.

Damming the flow of filthy language falling from the Irish's tongue with a single disgusted huff of breath, she continued to sketch away. The form of a long fingered and delicate pale hand began to take shape, surrounded by a swirling black wilderness that escaped between the snagging digits. Sharp red shone between the midnight hued locks.

Eoin chuckled a little at her sharp release of breath and voiced her earlier thoughts precisely. "You _did _ask, you know."

Charlie screwed up her nose, wrinkling it side to side in a motion that'd earned her the name 'Thumper' from many a carer in previous years. She made an irritated little noise in the back of her throat. Eoin snorted.

~~~~.snosaer esuaceb edulretni na evah steL~~~~

An hour later it was completely dark and the youth club was coming to an end. The supervisors led some of the more severely disabled kids out the double doors but Charlie and Eoin left out the back, signing out as they did and then wandering sleepily over to the train station.

Ten minutes into the journey, their paths met with that of a young woman – probably about Eoin's age, twenty – who had on a long black coat and hair to match. Charlie smiled in greeting as they passed but then stopped dead in her tracks. When she turned to check if Eoin had noticed, she was greeted with a knowing smile. The woman stepped out of the shadows and Charlie heard the delicate click of heeled shoes.

She sighed loudly but smiled in recognition of Charlie's surprise. "Call me Sexy and this time I _will_ hurt you." The statement was aimed at Eoin and Charlie realised that ever since that short calculating look when they'd met he'd never once tried to elicit a spoken response from her. She hoped that didn't mean he had the same deduction skills as Eoin had – being able to tell a person's life stories in but a moment, by an audible lilt to their walk or a habit such as tapping a glass with their fingernails. She didn't need another goddamn Sherlock in her life.

A small wave from Charlie earned her a friendly smile.

Eoin said, "Jesus Christ I wish I could see you," he left the sentence hanging for a fraction of a second and the new BM member groaned in anticipation, "_Sexy_."

Jokingly she intoned, in a voice that obviously meant she took at least some form of hormone (if she hadn't noticed before, she certainly noticed now – the voice was suitable to both sexes), "You know what, wanna call me that then go ahead. I won't fight." She smirked, "it'll do worlds of good for my self-esteem."

Eoin chuckled, "Okay then, Sexy." His tone was getting dangerously low, but not in an angry way. Far from it actually.

Charlie decided it was probably too late for this conversation. She should whisk him away as soon as possible. But just as the idea was forming in her mind, Eoin wound out one last question. He said, "What be your name, Sexy?"

"Well, for now, _that_ be my name," Sexy teased. She waved a goodbye and slapped Eoin's shoulder almost affectionately before continuing on her way, hips swaying in a motion that should seem ridiculous or something seeing as she had been born a guy. But whatever, Charlie wouldn't judge. In fact she found the hypnotising motion quite – what was the word Eoin had used? – _Sexy._ She giggled at the thought uncharacteristically, then urged Eoin to keep moving, nudging and pulling at his arm to move him from his post where he was still watching the petite woman's retreating back, despite the fact he was blind. Sometimes he honestly tried too hard.

That little thing that had been nagging at her in the corner of her mind – the little worried voice that had pestered her throughout that conversation previous – it came back now full flow and she realised that not listening to it had cost the two of them their ride home.

Reading her thoughts, Eoin said, "We can catch a different train."

Notes: Hope you enjoyed! Please review, I need the motivation.

Au revoir! xxo

(PS-I hope that was at least half decent!)

-Lallie


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